As well-wrought as this wall was

Fate fractured it, smashed this stronghold.

Toppled towers, ruptured rafters

Rot in rubble. Hail-hammered gateways

Crumble with cold. Ruined roofs –

Shattered shower-shields – eaten by age.

Where are the wrights, wielders of wood,

Sculptors in stone? In the grip of the grave,

Gone, long since gone. Deep they decay

While their works wither. This wall weathered

The crashing of kingdoms: stood against storms

Where kinsmen clashed in a splintering of spears.

First the factor, skilled with stone

Agile in art, melted metal

To bolster the base. A wonderful work!

When it was built, bright was the building,

Gorgeously gabled. Masses of men

Milled in the mead-hall, the row of rioters

Rang through the roof. Thickly they thronged,

Proud in their pleasure, choice in their cheer.

But Destiny doomed them,

Dealt them a double blow: pillaged by plague,

Battered by battle, the flower of the folk

Fell. This fort fragmented, and fell to waste,

To rack and ruin. The masons melted away,

The valiant men vanished. Hence are these halls

Desolate and dreary: tiles are torn

From the red roof. Decay has devastated,

Reduced to rubble this peerless pile:

Where once, in old days, a host of heroes

Happy in heart, and glittering with gold,

Fair and wine-flushed, fed on the sight

Of shimmering silver and joyed in gems.

Ravished by riches, gladdened by gold,

They gazed on the splendour of this bright burg,

This celestial city and its circling domains.